


Nothing At All

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-16
Updated: 2008-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It did it for him every time, and Malfoy never seemed to mind afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing At All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**rounds_of_kink**](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/)
> 
>  **prompt by[](http://redsnake05.livejournal.com/profile)[ **redsnake05**](http://redsnake05.livejournal.com/) : _It did it for him every time, and Malfoy never seemed to mind afterwards, when Ron was stammering apologies. [kinks: Snark, violence, rough sex]._ Many thanks to my betas [](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/profile)[**softly_sweetly**](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/) and [](http://winnett.livejournal.com/profile)[**winnett**](http://winnett.livejournal.com/).**

It meant nothing.  
   
Ron lay on his back and stared at the shadowed canopy of the bed, not seeing even the shadows brooding up there in the silky dips of the dark material. He didn't turn his head as he heard the sound of someone dressing: trousers being pulled on quickly, the sharp metallic _clink_ of a belt being buckled, the soft swish of shirt and robes being summoned. Ron had been so intent on not looking over, that he had completely missed the low murmur of _Accio_ , and now he turned his head slowly to one side.  
   
He gazed almost grimly at the pale plane of skin stretched across Malfoy's back, watching the way his scapula moved as he shook out his clothing briskly. There was a bruise on the lower part of his back, to the right, a large purpling smudge that looked horrific against that milky background; it probably appeared much worse than it felt, considering how easily Malfoy was moving. It was possible he had cast some sort of localised painkilling charm on it when Ron was being steadfast about not looking in his direction at all, a quick _Abdo dolor_ , but why didn't he remove that mark?  
   
"Does it hurt, then?" He croaked this out like Neville's old frog, and cleared his throat in embarrassment. Malfoy stiffened; he'd been startled, but then he simply turned his head and gazed at Ron as he pulled the white shirt over his shoulders. "The thump you got. On your back, down on the side there. Um... looks like it hurts."  
   
Malfoy continued to consider him for awhile, one side of his mouth quirking just a little as he fastened the silver-and-green tie around his neck, fingers twisting deftly around each other. Ron focused on them for a moment, entranced in spite of himself at their limber delicacy. The very first day he'd attended Hogwarts, he had learned that ever handy Tie-Tying Spell, although sometimes he nearly strangled himself in the rush to get ready for classes; and here Malfoy was doing it by hand.  
   
"The thump," Malfoy said slowly, rolling the words around his mouth delicately as if he was testing them. He seemed very relaxed, and he always did, after they did... what they did. It was very baffling to Ron. "The _thump_. No, it doesn't hurt. I'm fine."  
   
"Are... are you sure about that." Ron said this flatly and sat up, feeling the edge of the thick, scratchy duvet crawl down his chest to fall in his lap. He really shouldn't feel this concerned, because this was _Malfoy_ , and it meant nothing.  
   
It shouldn't.  
   
"Perfectly." Now Malfoy's vaguely amused voice had just the slightest tinge of annoyance threaded through it and Ron felt a surge of anger flare in him at that smug, almost dismissive tone, and felt _glad_ that he felt it. He let it curl along his bones, until he got a good look at Malfoy's neck, and saw the ring of teeth-marks on that place where the long neck curved into shoulder. Shame and shock drowned the anger, with the sudden smoky abruptness of a fire being doused with freezing water; had he done that? _When_? When did _that_ happen?  
   
Oh. It must have happened when he had been cock-deep in Malfoy's slick, clenching arse, one hand stretched out to clench a hank of that pale blond hair, pulling so hard that Malfoy's head tilted back. Malfoy's body had been trembling as his back bent like a bow, a sharp jerk occurring in cadence with every thrust, as the cradle of Ron's hips struck the rounded flesh of his buttocks.

Ron had wanted to hear him cry out, wanted to hear him shout wordlessly, to beg Ron to stop or go harder; but the only sound coming from Malfoy had been a sharp breathless grunt every time Ron's cock pressed within him and withdrew. So, he had released that handful of damp hair, slung one of his arms under Malfoy and around his waist, the other around his chest and drew him up... up to be impaled on his lap as Ron sat back on his heels, up so that his back was pressed against Ron's chest, their sweat mingling and causing them to be slippery against each other; _up_ so that Malfoy's neck and shoulder were right there and that must have been when, that _must_ have been it, because Malfoy had certainly cried out, a throaty shout as his hands had scrabbled against Ron's forearm braced across his chest and his hole had clenched and trembled around Ron's cock, and Ron probably had been biting as he came, feeling Malfoy's body shudder in his arms, the taste of Malfoy on his tongue.  
   
Ron wondered if his face was matching his hair. "I was only asking. I... didn't mean to. To. You know... with the teeth, and the marks and all."  
   
Malfoy pulled on his robes, looking down on his chest as he tugged his lapels, fastidiously making sure that they lay flat on his chest. Bloody pouf, he was. Alright, so maybe Ron was a bloody pouf too, he'd just spent half the night bollocks deep inside another bloke, but he wasn't going around being obvious about it. Malfoy pulled his wand out of his sleeves, a sudden movement where Ron actually felt his face going into a defensive snarl, before he realised that Malfoy had spun it in his fingers and pointed it at his own neck.  
   
He tapped the ring of reddened flesh with his wand, murmured  _Episkey_ and turned that small sneer in Ron's direction, lip curling. It didn't have the intensity that his sneers had before the war, but it was there, and Ron was a little comforted to see it. It was like seeing an old friend for the first time in a long time... only the friend was an enemy, in this case. This final thought kind of made Ron a little confused.  
   
"What tooth marks?" Malfoy spun on his heel and made his way to the door; he only paused at it when Ron spoke up again.  
   
"This means nothing."  
   
Malfoy turned a little, looking at Ron out of the corner of one eye. A sliver of grey eye glittered, amused and mocking.  
   
"Of course not." Malfoy regarded him for a little longer, dipped his head once, and let himself out of the Room of Requirement.  
   
*  
   
Ron took a long soak in the Prefect's bathroom. He always did after he'd been in the Room of Requirement. Usually, he'd find himself in there after he and Malfoy had had some confrontation during the day. Most times, all Malfoy had to do was look sideways at Harry, and Ron would wade in like a grim prize-fighter, fists swinging.  
   
Today had been no different. He had been walking with Harry, none of them speaking, simply together in that comfortable silence that denotes a close friendship. Harry, who had let his robe hang open, had been walking with his hands stuck in his trouser pockets, shoulders hunched, head down; this was his default stance after reporters began hounding him even more relentlessly after the temporary ban on interviewing Harry Potter had been lifted. He would just barrel his way through their quills and questions, moving too fast for them to catch up. Ron sometimes had to stride long just to keep up.  
   
They had been coming from Advanced Transfigurations, a session with Ravenclaw, walking through a secluded corridor. Ron had felt something twist in his stomach as Malfoy sauntered out of another corridor right in front of them, looking entirely too innocent.  
   
"Watch out, Harry," Ron muttered, but Harry looked up too late, running straight into Malfoy, who promptly grabbed him by the narrow shoulders and thrust him away.  
   
"Not every Slytherin you see is someone to be walked all over," he had snarled at Harry, who looked bemused and tired. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron pounced before he could.  
   
"Yeah? The way your side got on, I think they all should be, anyway."  
   
"Potter, tell your pet Weasel to shut his stupid mouth," Malfoy advised Harry in a silky, dangerous voice. "Or I'll have him muzzled. Or neutered, not that it'll make much of a difference."  
   
"One would think you'd get a little nicer or something, after all you've been through." Ron said this in a mocking tone. "I guess Malfoys can't change their little ferrety ways."  
   
"Kindly inform your useless sidekick that some people still have some kind of familial pride and sense of self." Malfoy was still addressing only Harry, and Ron was getting pissed off about it. Ron hated that; Harry would _always_ be the person who was addressed first, or at all, and for some reason the old jealousy Ron had endured while only a few years younger came bubbling up.  
   
"Get out of our way," Harry finally said, speaking on a sigh. "You always make trouble. Why do you still do that?"  
   
"Oh," Malfoy said with as much nastiness as he could apparently muster, "simply because I can."  
   
He had moved menacingly towards Harry and Ron, (who was quite aware of just who exactly Malfoy was baiting and was either helpless or unwilling to prevent himself from reacting) had stepped in between them and shoved Malfoy away.  
   
"Ron!" Harry said sharply, but all Ron could see was Malfoy's tight sickle of a grin and felt Malfoy's fist bury itself in his stomach. He had made a pained gurgle, and gasped; then he staggered forward, striking out.  
   
He and Malfoy were about the same height, taller than Harry in any case and actually built quite in the same fashion, in their narrow long-limbed glory. Malfoy carried his height with more grace, Ron with more force. But heights didn't exactly matter, because all he wanted to know was that he was giving Malfoy what for. He felt Malfoy's lip split under his knuckles, and Malfoy dodged his striking fists and came in close, grabbing Ron around the torso and hooking one leg behind him, shoving so that the both of them went down.  
   
Malfoy landed on top of him, and when he tried to sit back so that he could straddle Ron and maybe pound him in the face, Ron reached up and grabbed him around the throat, wrapping his fingers tightly and squeezing. Dimly, he could hear Harry shouting at the both of them, but this seemed like such a background thing, like the slightly distant sound of the wind-driven waves on the Lake. Malfoy was trying to yank handfuls of hair out of his head, but he hung on, and felt Malfoy's cock hardening rapidly against his own rigid length, thrusting and pressing as they grunted and struggled.  
   
The force of Harry's magic wrapped around Malfoy and yanked him from his perch atop Ron, dragging him away. Ron lay on the ground gasping, and tried to roll over on his side to hide his aching erection under the cascading material of his robes. He made it, barely.  
   
"Ron." A cool hand touched the side of his head, and he winced as Harry healed his injuries quickly. Malfoy had resorted to painful scratches. "Wait, don't move, here's another. You let Hermione see these, she'll probably hex you."  
   
Ron struggled up at the mention of Hermione, feeling as if Harry had called her here to look at how he was getting off on fighting with Malfoy. They were still alone and he shook his head.  
   
"You alright?" Harry peered at him with a mixture of worry and exasperation. Ron shrugged. "Let me go see about Malfoy."  
   
Harry got up from where he had hunkered down beside Ron, and he walked warily to the opposite wall of the corridor, where Malfoy was sitting propped up against the wall where Harry had deposited him, the skin around one eye starting to go dark already. He flashed them both a bloody, feral grin, and Ron felt himself on the edge of ejaculation.  
   
"Just keep yourself quiet," Harry had said, and reached out to grasp Malfoy's sharp chin. _Don't, he's mine_ , Ron had thought a little helplessly when Malfoy shifted his whole attention to Harry and Harry focused on his wounds. _Don't, he's mine_... but he hadn't known exactly who he was referring to in his own mind.  
   
*  
   
Malfoy had fallen upon him as soon as he slipped inside the Room of Requirement that evening, kissing him furiously. It was just like all the other times, and Malfoy's kisses never changed in their slick intensity, and Ron kissed him back, kissed as if they were fighting. Malfoy's hands had scratched down his back, he had clapped his hands on Malfoy's shoulders and pressed him down to kneel, breathing harshly as Malfoy unzipped his dark trousers and took his cock out, slipping his mouth over the flushed thickness. Ron had thrust in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth and moaned.  
   
They fucked with a desperate ferocity, and Ron hoped that Hermione's keen eyes wouldn't spot any of the scratches Malfoy inflicted on him, scratches that he might have missed. They were on a little 'break', that was true, but Hermione still watched him like a hawk.  
   
Even when Ron had began to ground out, "Take it, Malfoy, _take_ it, you fuck," almost with every plunge, Malfoy had not made any overt sound until Ron had bit him. Even then, he still seemed to relish it. The way he sounded as if he wanted it, as if he _deserved_ it, had made Ron come so hard that little white spots, like fairy lights, had swam in front of his vision as he strained and released his come in harsh, hot bursts deep inside of him.  
   
*  
It meant nothing. Even if he knew it wouldn't be like this with anyone else, it _couldn't_ be; it still meant nothing.  
   
*  
   
Finished with his satisfying soak, Ron trudged his way back to the Gryffindor Tower. He paused at a section of stone wall that had been repaired quite well. The only difference in the old stone-work and the new, and it was jarring only because the eye kind of tripped over the variation, was the darker gray of the new section. The older was the colour of Malfoy's eyes.  
   
He wrinkled his nose at himself, starting up a stairway that made itself amenable to ascent. The colour of Malfoy's eyes? That was some sentimental shit, right there.  
   
He gave the password to a sleepy Fat Lady, and stumbled in, drawing up short when he saw Harry curled in one of the armchairs near the low fire, looking very much like a firstie in its over-stuffed glory.  
   
"Harry," he said, walking slowly over to sit on the nearest end of the sofa. "What's up, mate?"  
   
Harry looked at him with ancient eyes. "We are," he replied with a faint smile, and flipped a page of the book balanced against his drawn-up knees, without looking down at it. "Couldn't sleep. You?"  
   
"No, I couldn't," Ron said, telling the truth and following it up with a lie. "I just took a walk around. You know, trying to clear my head and all."  
   
"Oh." Harry glanced down, grimaced, and turned the page quickly. "Hermione gave me this book...it updates itself, fancy that. I'm in there already."  
   
Ron reached out and used a finger to push the book up, so that he could see the cover: _Our Wizarding Heroes of the 20th Century_.  
   
"You're in there, too." Harry showed him the entry which outlined his involvement in the war. Ron idly wondered if he might find a paragraph denoting that _Ronald Bilius Weasley (close friend of Harry Potter and constant companion on his long and arduous task of eradicating the Wizarding world of the Dark Lord Voldemort) is also currently fucking the one person on earth he shouldn't, and he doesn't exactly know why. He does know that he craves said fucking, and is certainly hoping to do it again soon. See related entry on Malfoy, Draco Abraxas, under The Malfoys: Pureblood Dark Followers, page 276._  
   
"There's an entry on Malfoy?" he asked suddenly, his mouth running without checking if it got the green-light from his brain, like it always did. Harry gave him a long, searching look, eyebrows raised and his eyes too knowledgeable. Ron refrained from squirming until he shrugged.  
   
"Alright, mate, to bed, to bed, says Sleepyhead," Ron intoned, dragging a grin from out of Harry's narrow face. "Coming?"  
   
"In awhile," Harry said, and it was only when Ron was halfway up the curving staircase that he spoke up again: "You know what I've noticed?" he said slowly. "Malfoy's been fighting you more than me, nowadays. I mean, I'm bloody glad of it, I'm tired of all the stupid fighting, but I wonder why he's all set on you."  
   
Harry turned those too-old eyes up at him and Ron felt as if he wasn't hiding anything at all when he shrugged and said carelessly, "It means nothing, I guess."  
   
He turned and walked slowly up the stairs, feeling Harry's eyes on his back the whole way.  
   
 _fin_


End file.
